


Look the Truth In the Face

by Yana



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04, Character Study, F/M, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Tyrion Lannister, attempted self-sacrifice, crypt scene, kind of, this episode was dark as hell but I tried my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yana/pseuds/Yana
Summary: Only those could express pure honesty who were about to run into their deaths.





	Look the Truth In the Face

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the Crypt Scene with the help of video editing.

The fight above was frightening to hear. Not only the barked orders and the clinking of swords slipped through the ceiling, there were the last frightful shouts of the living along with the gurgling sounds of the dead. Children whimpered in their mothers’ arms and though they seemed to be brave for their sake, Tyrion knew fear was clawing and tearing out their insides like vultures would do to their prey.

And he hated to be here among the women, the children, the elderly and the crippled. He hated to be in this place surrounded by a terrified silence of waiting for something to happen. He hated to feel the hopelessness weighing down his shoulders while he was unable to do anything here apart from waiting.

Tyrion hated to be useless.

He was well aware that he lacked the physical conditions to be a warrior. He was short, his arms didn’t reach far and his legs weren’t fast enough. But he had been on the battlements during the Battle of Blackwater, and had led a troop behind Stannis’s army. He had the mind to come up with a great battle plan. Hiding here hurt his dignity as a strategist. Even Jaime was out there fighting with only his left hand.

But Sansa was right in a way. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes, no matter how much she’d tried to hide it. He knew the way her gaze changed with every emotion, the way her lips tilted when she couldn’t speak her mind. This ice cold attitude of a wardeness didn’t fool him like it did the Northerners. She’d seen something outside that truly terrified her, and she was no longer the naïve girl who dreamed of princes and such things. She was a woman now and the things she had to endure ever since she had set her foot out of Winterfell all those years ago had changed her. Her thinking was realistic, critical. She questioned everything, not wanting to walk into a trap for not knowing every detail of an arrangement. She’d learnt from her childlike mistakes and matured into an intelligent lady. If she thought that they, _he_ had no chance to survive out there, she was right.

His eye drifted towards her. She sat next to him, back straight like a statue of unbreakable calmness, a beacon of hope in the candlelight. She was acting like a true leader when the world gave itself into chaos right above them. She didn’t tremble when the dead shrieked right outside the crypt’s doors, she didn’t flinch when the smell of blood reached their noses. She was a truly remarkable person, no wonder the North admired her.

No wonder he admired her. More now then ever before. She’d been only a child when they wed, trying to survive in King’s Landing surrounded by enemies of her family who used her as a tool to get what they wanted. She’d played safe, never speaking up for herself, never opposing anyone. But this Sansa called out his bullshit decisions and ideas without the slightest hesitation, looked at the Dragon Queen with her chin held high and a challenging flame in her eyes. She was now proud and strong just like her late mother used to be.

But she also had the softness of her father. A gentle side she’d rarely shown back in King’s Landing, once to him right before the news of her brother’s death had arrived, and she’d retreated so quickly back into her shell like the spark of the foundation of mutual understanding and admiration had never existed. It had taken her some time and patience on his part for her to start opening up again, but Joffrey had died and she’d disappeared.

He didn’t know exactly what she had to go through to get here, to mature so much and speak so cleverly backed up by wisdom only the oldest possessed. He’d heard bits of information and he figured a few out by himself, but he needed to hear it from her to truly understand. And he would patiently wait for the moment when she came to him on her own terms.

But that would only happen if there was a tomorrow where the both of them were alive.

And it looked like there wasn’t.

He had no idea what was going on with him lately. He’d let himself be manipulated by Cersei even though he knew her well. And he’d been aware of the fact that the Night King could raise the dead.

And they were hiding in a bloody crypt.

Surrounded by fucking Stark mummies.

He should’ve thought of that. Should’ve suggested to open the tombs and burn the bodies to ashes. But no. The thought had never crossed his mind and now the safest place of Winterfell would become their grave. He recalled the way Sansa had looked at him, the slight disappointment in her eyes as she told him she’d used to think he’d been the cleverest man, the coldness that surrounded her as she’d walked away, the sharp pain in his chest as he’d looked at her retreating form. And he, for some strange reason, remembered the way Bran had looked at him, staring right into his soul and seeing something even Tyrion himself hadn’t been aware of.

Now wasn’t the time to wonder about the abilities and the importance of the youngest living Stark. Not when the dead were killing the innocent and he was hiding behind a tomb with an other Stark.

Tyrion glanced out of their hiding place every few moments to see if they were detected. He tried to regulate his breathing, not wanting to be found. Not yet. He knew that eventually they would die just like those poor souls who hadn’t found shelter in time. He thanked the gods, the old and the new alike, that the sarcophagus they were hiding behind stayed intact and the dead Stark inside it didn’t break through the stone to catch them by the throat, to squeeze the life out of them.

Sansa on the other hand was breathing fast next to him as panic took over her. It was getting louder with each inhale and he couldn’t blame her. Both of them had seen horrible things happen right in front of their eyes throughout the years, but none of them were as terrifying as this one. How could someone prepare themselves to face the dead, people who were stripped of their humanity to leave behind only the hunger for violence and blood?

They couldn’t do anything but look the truth in the face, just like she had said not long ago.

_They would die tonight._

He felt a grip on his hand.

Tyrion turned back to Sansa. She was holding his hand tight as her eyes were closed and she forced herself to breathe slower. Once she calmed down a bit, she looked at him in the eyes.

His heart squeezed at the sight. She was looking at him with a voiceless question he had no answer for. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t know what to do. He raised her hand to his chest, holding her gaze, facing the truth. There was no way out of this, and it made him despair. Not for himself, but for her. She was too young to die like this. She still had her whole life ahead of her. She’d survived everything this cruel world had tossed her into, it was unfair to meet her end here. She deserved so much better than to be slaughtered by the dead.

She blinked a few times, understanding him like she was seeing into his head. Her head lowered just a bit and Tyrion curiously followed her movements as her hand pulled a dagger made out of dragonglass out of her cloak.

What was she planning with the dagger? She wouldn’t… _right?_ Was she about to die on her own terms before the dead reached them, not giving them the pleasure to hear her last screams?

Tyrion glanced back at her face with hesitation, fearing what he would see.

He shouldn’t have feared, he found out quickly. He shouldn’t have underestimated Sansa like all those who were now dead. She was still scared but she had no intention of killing herself. She would die on her own terms but not while she was hiding in fear. She would face the dead and go down in a fight.

Warmth swelled inside him as the corner of his mouth curled up to a nervous smile. She was no warrior, she’d been raised to be a lady from the moment she was born, and here she was, about to go out there and fight for her people. If they were anywhere but here, he would’ve kissed her.

But this was not the right place and time, and, like he had once said so long ago it felt like it had happened in an other life, he wouldn’t do anything to her, not until she wanted him to. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything of course. He couldn’t let her go out on her own. He would go with her so they would face death together. So they would die together not hiding in fear, but in an attempt to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

So he pulled out his own dagger and squeezed her hand.

She breathed out a breath of relief, like she feared he would abandon her. Which he would never. Maybe their marriage hadn’t been something they both had planned or wanted, but he’d put his cloak on her shoulders. She was still under his protection no matter how long they had been separated or how they felt about each other – more like how they… how she didn’t feel about him – and he believed himself to be an honorable man enough to keep his promises. He wouldn’t loose sight of her in their last moments. He would be there to protect her as long as he could.

Sansa’s smile of relief was quickly swept away by sadness that surprised him. Was she sad to lose the life she would never have? Did she have dreams she wanted to fulfill in the future? Her lips parted, her lashes trembled with hesitation, but as soon as she found the strength she needed she breathed out something that sounded like—

Tyrion let out a soft gasp.

He felt his stomach dropping and his heart skipping a beat.

_That wasn’t it._

She surely didn’t say what he heard. Or what he wanted to hear her say in their last moments in this world. Why would she say such thing? He was just a dwarf. A drunk dwarf who had been always seeking the company of whores. A sad little creature doomed the moment he had been born. Who was he compared to her greatness? She was radiant like the sun while he was a creature of the shadows, no chance to stand by her shine. Or he would only dim her brightness if he stood by her side.

But he knew her well. He knew the way her gaze changed with every emotion, the way her lips tilted when she couldn’t speak her mind. And her eyes held pure honesty, no lies, no hidden motives, just pure honesty only those could express who were about to run into their deaths.

And she told him herself that the only barrier between them was Daenerys and his loyalty to his Queen as her Hand.

Not the fact that he was a dwarf.

Not the fact that he was a Lannister.

Not the fact that she had no feeling for him.

Just that he was the Hand of the Queen.

And that thought made him feel something he always feared to admit. Something that had started the moment he realized back in the throne room what a strong heart and soul she had. That while she’d been a sheep in the lion’s den, she’d been still a wolf under all that softness. A true survivor, pushing forward when the world had wanted her to bend and break.

She was someone he admired deeply.

She was a woman he looked up to.

She was a woman he would follow until his last breath.

She was his wife he hardly knew, but would give everything to spend more time with, to memorize every little detail about her.

_She was the woman he loved._

He’d expected this acceptance to fill him with fear from head to toe. He’d expected to freeze in panic, because he’d been scared of hoping for a future that never would be. Because she would never feel the same way for him. Because she would never love him like he loved her.

But she did. He saw it in her eyes, the same emotions she also feared to face, but it was the end, and they would look the truth in the face together.

_They loved each other._

Instead of fear, there was peace in him. Like the weight of the world that had gathered on his shoulders in the last few years were suddenly swept away by the Northern wind. It lifted his soul for a moment. So this was what happiness felt like. How beautiful true, requited love was.

But his happiness was quickly soured by the sadness of the truth. Just behind the sarcophagus they used as a momentary safe haven, Death itself was waiting for them with open arms and there was no escaping its embrace.

This happiness was beautiful while it lasted. And he would treasure it until his last breath.

She was watching him intently, searching his face, her gaze becoming more uncertain with every passing moment. Was she afraid of his reaction? Scared that she opened up too much and scared him away? Was she expecting a rejection?

He followed the first impulse to answer her words and raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, never breaking eye contact with her. He tried to shove every emotion, every love and hope and fear he felt at that moment into this single kiss. This last kiss that meant everything to him. It was a confession. A declaration. An oath of loyalty. An apology. A promise for something that would probably never come.

He felt her hand relax in his hold as he pulled it back to his chest more firmly now. He let out a soft laugh as he saw her whole body going lax. There was no fear in her eyes anymore. He saw wonder, peace, love. Sadness for a future they would never have.

He had to look away. They couldn’t stay here any longer, there were people out there who needed their help. The two of them were their only hope. As much as he wanted to stay, to hold her in his arms in their last moments, he couldn’t do it.

And as he was staring at the stone wall in front of him, at the shadows that danced on it, he slowly accepted his fate. This would be his final resting place. This would be the place of his most heroic act. Nobody would write songs of him, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t seeking glory, he was only doing what he felt right, what all those knights were swore to do but forgot about along the way. To protect the innocent.

He squeezed her hand.

_And to protect the one he loved._

He took one last breath and jumped out of his hiding place. Sansa followed him without hesitation and together they ran out to the corridor to look death in the face. That was the most heroic thing they could do.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they survived this whole thing and then came the awkwardness.
> 
> \- This https://cmlns.tumblr.com/post/184529600784/maybe-i-watched-this-scene-too-many-times-but-its tumblr post pointed out that Sansa said ‘love you’ during the crypt scene. And maybe I’m just seeing things into this damn dark scene I had to brighten to see where the hands are, but there IS a little gasp Tyrion lets out. I don’t know how many times I watched it (because I watched it a lot of times) before I noticed it.
> 
> \- Okay, so hands. (Here's a video for references and time codes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXTmaqNXCD4) I brightened up the scene as much as I could. It looks pixelated as hell where it's too dark, but this way I could finally see when Tyrion lifted Sansa's hand to his chest. It's at 0:31. I know you can't see shit, me neither, until I saw a greyscale gif (https://booksfromtheunderland.tumblr.com/post/184544172209/in-the-dark-i-am-the-knight-of-flowers). I noticed that something was moving there on Tyrion's right shoulder and after I did some editing with the scene I saw that yep, there's the hand. You don't see it here, but at 0:46 Sansa's hand is there in Tyrion's and that's where he lifts it from to his lips. So when did they start holding hands? At 0:13, they are still separated, and since Tyrion is leaning away this (0:17) far from Sansa, and we didn't see Tyrion leaning down to take her hand, the only logical answer is that Sansa reached out to him first.
> 
> \- I want to know why Bran was looking at Tyrion like that. Or was he looking at the two of them as they talked?
> 
> \- Someone pointed out that maybe the sarcophagus they were hiding behind was Ned's.
> 
> \- Sansa is a mirror to Cersei when Stannis attacked King's Landing. Both of them wanted to die the way they wanted to. But while Cersei decided to use poison to escape the enemy, Sansa decided to die fighting.
> 
> \- I would bet money on it that Tyrion’s loyalty will come up in the next episodes.


End file.
